


Tigers at Night

by Lady_Winterlace



Category: AU crossover StC/Torchwood.
Genre: Gen, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Winterlace/pseuds/Lady_Winterlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is hunting rift problems - two other Captains are fighting a war. Sometimes working together is the best solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is still a work in progess, and in caterpillar stage. If you don't know 'Show the Colours': It's an Napoleonic RPG set during the Peninsular War. It can be found [here](http://showthecolours.forumakers.com/).
> 
> The individual chapters will be polished and properly headered once the end is done! Promise!

* * *

  


Fandom: AU crossover StC/Torchwood.  
"Tigers at night, Part Ia"  
Rating: PG

All characters belong to their respective owners; thanks to all for creating such fantastic characters. Should they behave oddly, it is entirely my fault.

 _For[](http://patches-the-shipcat.dreamwidth.org/profile)_[ **patches_the_shipcat**](http://patches-the-shipcat.dreamwidth.org/) as a late Christmas present.

* * *

Thunder rumbled, and the rain beat down heavily on the valley in rugged hills of northern Portugal. Suddenly a flash of lightning filled the air. For a moment, the swampy ground was illuminated in a angry blue light and the air tasted of metal. Then, a loud curse followed. Two meters above the ground, Captain Jack Harkness appeared just where the centre of the blue light had been, and fell flat down into a muddy puddle.

"Just why can't that damn rift never end above a nice, comfortable bed?", he complained to the world at large, wiped the mud from his eyes, then picked himself cautiously up. His nice clothes were covered with mud, but he spared them not a thought. If his prey was near, mud in his clothes might be the least of his problems soon. Somewhat against his expectations, however, no attack followed. He slowly turned around, scanning the area. He didn't know what time he had landed in, but whenever it was, it was night. The plants did look neither overly prehistoric nor futuristic, but he supposed that one of the stable things in the universe was the look of swamps at night: creepy.

Not being a navy man, the Captain Jack saw no reason to expose himself to more water than strictly necessary, and plodded through the mud to where he hoped that some bushes and a tree would provide at least a modicum of shelter. By now his long overcoat, that hadn't at all liked to be dunked in foul-smelling water, was drenched and clung to his tall figure in heavy, cold folds. His boot vanished in a muddy hole in the ground, that refused to give it up without a struggle, and provoked another round of curses. "If I have to go down with a weight around my neck, why can't it at least be a nice woman?" The curse was only mumbled under the man's breath, but lost none of its force by it.

The one thing that bothered him most didn't get included in his curses: Where was his prey? The rift was unpredictable, and although Tosh had assured him that it hadn't changed in the few seconds it had taken him to get there, that could still mean that he was a couple of days or some kilometres off. And if this wasn't the case, had she - Jack was quite sure it was a she, even though Owen hadn't been able to confirm that - found another victim somewhere? Was that why she wasn't attacking him?

His bad-tempered approach to the bushes was suddenly interrupted by some movement up ahead, and his hand quickly flew to his revolver, but before he could draw it, a youthful voice demanded:

"Friend or foe?"


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part Ib"

* * *

In Jack's experience, that question was usually accompanied by one or more nasty things pointed at him, so he quickly pulled his hand away from his holster and held it up. The voice had spoken English, so he answered in the same language "Friend!". He wasn't quite sure of that yet, but it was too soon in this adventure to die.

Two rather small and scrawny figures slowly peeled out of the shadows, and one demanded, in an untarnished London accent: "Step forward and be recognized!" Jack did as told, glad that he at least seemed to be in a time when there was an organized British army. With some luck, this was WWII and he would know his way around. "Captain Jack Harkness!" Some inborn caution made him add nothing further, and a second later he was glad for it. The two young soldiers in their green uniforms, old Baker rifles in hand, would certainly have been quite surprised, had he announced 'Royal Air Force'. Their looks were suspicious enough as they were. Another round of lightning flashed and Jack could study their faces for a moment. Both seemed very young to him, still boys. Each had a scar maring the left cheek. Their colouring was impossible to make out, but in the dramatic still picture the lightning illuminated for a second, they presented a striking contrast. Both looked agile and healthy enough, but while one had the face of an angel, the other had the eyes of a wild, untamed animal. 

From the look of the uniforms and weapons, Jack reckoned he must have landed somewhere in the early 19th century - give or take a couple of decades. He wasn't all too sure about it. The two lads looked rather uncertain how to proceed, so he decided to ask a couple of questions of his own. The first and most important was:

"Can I take my hands down?" The drenched sleeves of his coat seemed to weight at least a ton. His voice was different from his usual slightly American drawl. He was unsure where America stood in this particular conflict, so he had opted to go with the tide. He certainly was glad that he by now had lived long enough in Cardiff to assume a nice Welsh accent, should he require it. 

The lads looked at each other, then the one who hadn't spoken yet shrugged, and the other cautiously nodded. They didn't take their rifles down, though. 'Good lads!', Jack thought. 'Unfortunately that won't help you with me.' Aloud he demanded: "Name and regiment?" He used his best officer's voice and the 'Don't you dare argue!'-look he usually reserved for Owen. If he could get the upper hand in this conversation, he might be able to get away without loosing much time or telling much himself. He needed to get on with his search. Those two youngsters would do better to sit on a tree tonight than to talk to him, but of course they had to do their duty. Still, bamboozling them a bit wouldn't hurt anybody, and the sooner he solved his problem, the sooner they could fight whomever they were fighting in peace - well, sort of.

The riflemen looked suitably impressed, and even straightened to some sort of attention, but unfortunately they still kept their rifles trained on him.

"Rifleman Pye, third company, 60th rifles, Sir!" - "Rifleman Rottlaender, Sir!"

The second one, who had now spoken for the first time, had quite a heavy accent; German, Jack thought. "Report: Did you see something else tonight?" If he could get some useful information from them, all the better. But he doubted they could help him. If they had seen what he was hunting, they wouldn't be standing here still. 

The two young men were sharing an uneasy glance, and Pye, who obviously was the one who did most of the talking, was just about to open his mouth, when another voice cut coolly in:

"Is there anything we can help you with, Sir?"

The arrogant, commanding tone matched his own; Jack spun around, making both riflemen jump and prepare to fire, but a second voice commanded quickly: "At ease! Return to your posts."

Through the heavy rain, Jack could make out the shape of two men on horses. Both were wrapped in heavy overcoats, hiding most features, but one wore a tall shako, while the other was sporting a bicorn, covered in oilskin, that send a constant dribble of rain down onto the blade of the sword he had drawn and held lightly before him on the saddle.

Jack sighed. Just his luck that there had to be officers nearby when he ended up here. The one with the shako was probably the officer of the watch; Jack remembered that the riflemen had worn green uniforms and shakos, and that they had become quite famous. But, what looked like a blue uniform, bicorn, and a spyglass strapped to the saddle - what did a navy fellow here? Good looking, though. The other as well. Definite eye-candy there. Pasting on his most charming smile, Jack sauntered up to them.

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness, general staff. As much as I regret it, I really shouldn't be here and talk to you, and since you seem not to have seen anything, I'm probably in the wrong place anyway. Sooo … if you would excuse me?"


	3. The Captains discuss

* * *

  


"Tigers at night, Part Ic"

* * *

The two officers shared a glance - Jack grew rapidly tired of people doing that around him - before the one with the shako replied calmly:

"Not quite yet, Sir, if you don't mind. I think you said you are an officer in his Majesty's army?"

"Yep … yes." Jack's reply sounded cheerful, but underneath he was getting slightly worried. Asking for confirmation in this way probably meant that there was some catch he just had got caught on. Still, there was little else he could say now, and although he might have gotten his commission in a unorthodox way, he had at one time been a real, sworn-in officer, and was still serving queen and country, so that answer wasn't even a real lie. And surely there were enough officers around that one more …

His hopes quickly died when the shakoed man looked inquiringly at the other rider, who urged his large horse a few steps closer and studied Jack intently. Jack couldn't see his face very well under the hat, but he got an impression of cynical green eyes and a thin-lipped mouth set in an expression of haughty disapproval. The inspection took quite a while and left Jack enough time to feel even the last dry patches of his coat soak up; when he had finally finished, the blue-clad man looked at the other and said, in a tone that confirmed something the other already had suspected:

"No, I'm afraid." With what almost amounted to pity, he explained: "You see, Captain", there was a slight question in his voice, "I have spent the better part of the past weeks talking to every British or allied officer for 60 miles around. Your name didn't appear on my list, nor has anyone ever mentioned you."

The other officer had come closer as well now, and Jack could see that while the man with the bicorn held his sabre quite openly for Jack to see, the other man had an antique, but nonetheless quite serviceable looking pistol aimed at him, protected from the rain by his cloak. In his calm, polite voice he stated: "I must ask you, Sir, to accompany us back to the camp."

No, Jack wouldn't. Not while there was a rampaging, highly dangerous wild beast that didn't belong even anywhere near this time on the loose. Perhaps he could still talk his way out of this. His radar indicated that none of the men were amendable to flirting, but that wasn't the only weapon in Jack's repertoire. When he spoke next, he sounded every bit the competent, self-assured officer on an important mission, who knew that this little hiccup wasn't his colleagues' fault, but didn't have the time right now to go the official way to solve this. "I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. I only arrived a short while ago, and that's why you probably never have heard of me, but I'm here on a special assignment that concerns the security of us all, and I really need to get going now. Otherwise people will die."

He looked the officer right in his eyes, willing him to accept that. A bit of psychic paper would come in really handy now, he thought cynically. The next time he saw the Doctor, he would have to point out that when the Doctor refused to appear for every little time incident, he could at least provide Jack with a bit of help cleaning things up. That he would finally repair Jack's own vortex manipulator might probably be hanging his hopes too high, but surely a piece of paper wasn't too much to ask for?

The two officers on their horses had waited patiently, although they must have been as uncomfortable out here as he was, obviously expecting Jack to produce something to verify his claims, but now the green-clad one signalled for a squad of soldiers who had accompanied them to come forward. He exchanged a few words with one, who saluted and led the men on to where the two young riflemen had gone, then turned to Jack again:

"Should your claim be true, a letter of enquiry to headquarters should proof it in the morning. Until then I must insist that you come with us."

Damn. He couldn't run, he couldn't vanish, and in all likelihood even if he allowed them to shoot him, he would get dragged to their camp. Which left him only the option of telling them the truth. Not a good choice, considering what damage that could do to the future. He had a couple of RetCon pills in his pocket, but not enough for a whole regiment, so he would have to time this carefully and make sure that the two didn't spread the tale around. He sighed.

"Alright, I come along, if you insist. Who are you, by the way?"

The rifles officer answered, bowing slightly in the saddle.

"I am Captain Vickery of the Third Company, Fifth Battalion of the Sixtieth Rifles. This is Captain Torrington, of the Royal Engineers."

The other man also bowed slightly, a shower of water pouring down from the tip of his bicorn. A rustle behind Jack heralded the reappearance of his two youthful captors, rifles once again aimed at him, and the two riders turned their horses, taking him into their middle. Jack looked up at them.

"Please at least ask your men to keep their eyes open and be especially careful tonight. There's a wild beast on the loose, and it has no compunction to attack." He didn't want any of them to lose their lives. Even though they weren't under his command, he still felt responsible for them.

Captain Vickery smiled. "You may be sure that my men will be very careful indeed." It was impossible to say whether he believed Jack or not, but it seemed that Jack's appearance had been reason enough to have him caution his men. Well, it was probably the best he would get for the moment. Captain Jack, splattered in mud and by now soaked to the skin, finally gave in and, escorted by two riflemen, went with the two officers back to their camp.


	4. A watch going wrong

* * *

  


"Tigers at night, Part Id"

_Only one hour late ..._   


* * *

The camp looked strangely homey. Rows of tents, some reinforced by walls of earth or other structures around them, others made more comfortable by the addition of some kind of sitting area between them. A few were illuminated from within, the lights shining dimly through the heavy cloth, giving them a friendly, inviting note.

Soldiers came running, taking the officer's horses. They had conversed briefly before, to silently for Jack to overhear, and now with a nod Captain Vickery left them, while the other Captain, Torrington, politely asked:

"If you would come with me, Captain? I believe we can discuss this more comfortably in my tent."

He made an inviting gesture towards one of the larger tents. The German rifleman dashed up to it, dived in and had a lamp lit even before Jack had started to move. His friend had remained with the engineer, the rifle still aimed at Jack. Jack guessed that the rain would have rendered the powder useless by now, but still, the zeal of those two was commendable. He grinned. If he had explaining to do, it was certainly better in a dry tent. With a smile and a slight bow in imitation of Torrington's, he accompanied the Captain.

"So, any chance to get a cup of coffee around here?"

The Captain held the tent-flap open for him. He didn't seem in the least impressed by Jack's charm, his face still cool and aloof, but he answered quite politely:

"I'm sure my batman can prepare some for us."

Another soldier came running through the rain, and Captain Torrington took a step away from Jack and turned to the newcomer. It was another rifleman, older than the two youngsters, and obviously somebody they liked, for both beamed when he appeared. He was quite out of breath, but ducked into the tent and gave a hasty salute to Torrington:

"Captain Vickery's compliments. He will be back in a minute, but he thought Rottlaender and Pye might need some help, what with our unexpected guest being here." The engineer nodded, his face losing some of its coolness for a moment. "That would be welcome, thank you, Cotton. Perhaps you could assist Captain Harkness out of his coat?" He had cast off his own and handed it to Rottlaender, who seemed to be his batman. Pye was standing a bit uncertainly looking in a corner, still with his rifle.

Jack looked around the tent while the Captain was making his domestic arrangements. It was sparsely furnished, but what was there seemed to be of very good quality. It was also very clean. Not a scrap of paper lying around, or anything else that could help Jack to determine where and when he was. He noticed that Torrington was watching him. Cotton had stepped behind Jack, and raised his hands in preparation for helping Jack shrug out of his coat, but he seemed a bit wary, and was very cautious when Jack started to wriggle out of the clinging, heavy material. Suddenly Torrington held up a hand, though. "A moment, Cotton. Captain, would you please put your … weapon on the table here? Slowly, if you please."

What …? Then Jack realized. His pistol. Nearly an antique in what he now considered his time, but here still about a hundred years in the future. And Torrington had spotted it the moment Jack's coat had fallen open. He mentally readjusted his image of the two officers a bit. They had both reacted better to the situation than Jack had bargained for, and although they mistrusted him and were quite cautious, they kept to a polite, even courteous behaviour that Jack found quite appealing. He very slowly opened the holster, feeling both Cotton and the younger rifleman tensing, then he took out the Webley Mk IV and laid it on the table, then stepped back and finally shrugged out of his coat, revealing the shirt with a collar, the modern trousers and belt, and - most revealing - the suspenders.

Captain Torrington had his face well under control, and Jack could only see a slight furrow marring his brow in reaction, but both young riflemen were gaping. He couldn't see Cotton behind his back, but he could hear the surprised sound he made when he took the coat and saw what was beneath. But at a sign and a quiet order from Torrington, he took the coat and went outside, taking Pye and Rottlaender with him, although he gave the engineer a doubtful look. The engineer studied Jack's appearance, looked briefly at the weapon, then his eyes fixed on the watch on Jack's wrist. Still politely, though a bit strangled, he asked:

"May I see your … timepiece for a minute, Sir?"

Now this was going to get interesting. Jack silently took off the watch and held it out, smiling wryly. The Captain took the silver band quite cautiously, then held it up and studied it closely in the faint light of the one lamp. Suddenly, he took out his own watch and compared them, then said in a carefully kept calm voice: "Your watch is faulty by three hours and forty-two minutes."

Suddenly the engineer's eyes fixed on something behind the Captain's shoulder, and he took the revolver and held it out to the man who was standing just inside the tent. Jack hadn't noticed Captain Vickery coming back - he had been quite busy observing Torrington's reaction, and, if truth be told, checking out Torrington himself. But now he stepped back a bit, obviously to let the other man enter, but also to keep them both in sight. The moment of truth had come. Vickery gave him the perfect opening when he asked:

"Where did you get this weapon, Captain?"

Jack's answer was simple.

"In London, 1941. I'm from the future. My watch shows what is for me the current time in England."


	5. Captain Jack is taking over

* * *

  


"Tigers at night, Part IIa"

* * *

If Jack had expected dropping jaws or exclamations of pure incredulity, he was disappointed. Vickery's eyes grew wide, while Torrington's frown deepend, but otherwise both officers kept their polite, noncommittal expressions, although Jack could sense that they were both stunned. They shared one long look, that clearly asked, 'Have we drunken too much or he? Or might this even be true?', then glanced down at the items in their hands.

"Then why …" - "What …"

Both had begun to speak at the same time, and just as suddenly stopped when they had heard the other. Now, both were apologizing and begging that the other went first. Jack couldn't suppress a smile. They were both younger than he was, and even younger than he _looked_ , both looking like modern movie stars in a period drama, and, although in some respects they seemed to differ widely, in others they were very similar. They had a certain maturity to them, a feeling of responsibility and … well, _class_ ; Jack couldn't find another word. Thoroughly British. He could practically see the wheels in their brains already turning, coping with the problem in an orderly fashion.

Torrington had won their polite battle to let the other go first by now. Vickery laid Jack's revolver down on the table before him, careful with the trigger without even consciously thinking about it.

"And what are you hunting with this weapon then, Captain? Why are you here?"

Right to the point. Vickery seemed to be used to thinking on his feet. Jack's smile grew, and his eyes passed over the young Captain with an appreciation that was personal enough to make the man look slightly irritated and uncomfortable. Recalling the period, Jack quickly tried to get his mind off that particular track and looked at his revolver instead.

"A sabretooth."

"I beg your pardon?" They both even phrased their question in the same words. Jack bid down a chuckle, but then remembered the woman they had found in Cardiff, the beast first victim, and his eyes grew serious.

"A prehistoric cat of prey. A kind of tiger - only larger and much more vicious. It came through a rift - a crack in space and time - and it will attack and kill the first prey that it smells. It has already killed three people, two others are in hospital. I need to find it, and if not by some wonder the rift opens again into its own time period, I have to kill it before it can irreparably damage this timeline."

His voice had lost its fake Welsh accent and slipped into his customary, half-American, half-British speech pattern. There was steel in it, and a conviction that was very hard to resist. He slowly stretched out a hand towards his Webley. No-one protested.

"They say a tiger that has tasted human flesh never hunts anything else again." Captain Torrington's voice was idly wondering. He glanced at Vickery. "You don't have any experience hunting tigers, have you?" Vickery shook his head. "No. I think we should inform General Wellesly. He has been in India long enough." There was some subtext there, and it took a moment before Jack had sorted that, but then …

"No!"

The sharp exclamation made both officers tense in a battle ready stance. Before the sound had died, the flaps of the tent, too, flew open, and three rifle barrels pointed at Jack. He took a deep breath. Vickery shot a glance at the three riflemen at the entrance, and they backed out again, mumbling apologies and looking slightly guilty. Probably they had been sitting outside, one ear pressed to the canvas. Jack made a mental note. They would have to be kept away from gossiping and retconned. One thing more he would need the officers' help for.

Torrington smoothed over the moment by ordering quite calmly, as if the young German had appeared on his summon: "Rottlaender, some coffee, please." When the soldiers had left the tent again, both Captains' eyes drilled into Jack, however. He took a deep breath and explained:

"The more people know about this, the more likely it is that the timeline will get damaged. The man you know as General Wellesly … Well, let's just say that he will become very important soon. If one of his decisions gets influenced by this incident, it could change the future of Britain in a significant way. I can't allow that to happen."

Vickery didn't look happy with this, a stance Jack could sympathize with, but he _had_ to keep this contained. Perhaps to make the Captain's decision a bit easier, perhaps a bit to impress him, too, he pulled out his last trump. The leather wrapper had gotten muddy, but the pass inside, declaring Jack's current status as head of the Torchwood institute, agent and trusted officer of the Crown had survived without a spot. He flicked it open and handed it to Vickery. Torrington came closer and peered over the other man's shoulder, then read out aloud:

" _We, Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of her other realms and territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, request and require all those whom it may concern to allow Captain Jack Harkness, British subject and officer in Her Britannic Majesty's forces, to pass freely without let or hindrance, and to afford him every assistance and protection of which he may stand in need._ " His eyebrows went up.

Vickery flicked through the remaining pages, reading some quite closely, then inspected the Royal seal again.

"Impressive, Captain. I still have half a mind to call a surgeon, because frankly your story sounds like something one perhaps dreams after too much liquor, but … I'm not at all sure how orders of a future monarch are to be treated, but I guess this requires us to place ourselves at your disposal."

He handed the little book over to Torrington, pointing to a certain passage, who read it and nodded, closing the wrapper thoughtfully. Jack relaxed. He began to immensely like this time.


	6. Seeing is believing

* * *

  


"Tigers at night, Part IIb"

Rating: R (to be on the save side)

_Edit: As[](http://sharpiefan.dreamwidth.org/profile)_[ **sharpiefan**](http://sharpiefan.dreamwidth.org/) rightly commented, I should have used cut-tags. Doing so now.

* * *

  
Before Jack could make any further observations, or his hosts in any way discuss his recent revelations with him, suddenly the camp around them seemed to spring to live. Hoof beats, snorts and voices interrupted the steady pattern of rain; someone called loudly for a surgeon, another voice inquired after Captain Vickery. Before it had finished, the officer had snatched his hat and strode out of the tent. Torrington took a second longer, thrusting the passport back at Jack and taking the lamp along.

Jack followed more slowly. Of course, in war a number of incidents could require a surgeon and an officer, but he had a premonition that this time neither the French nor high spirits were the cause.

A handful of horses stood nervously in the rain, while dark-clad riflemen hoisted down the mangled, bloody corpses of their comrades. At the heads of the horses stood their riders, the braiding on their smart blue uniforms red from blood in the light of the torches and lamps. One was retching. Another had his eyes closed. A young hussar, his face pale, was making some kind of report to Vickery, who's eyes every so often strayed to where the soldiers laid down the bodies of his men. Cotton, his face grim, was helping with the corpses, but then he saw a woman coming towards the scene and quickly went over to her. Jack didn't need to hear the words to know that he would try to send her away. He hoped the rifleman succeeded.

Jack had seen many things in his long life, but even he had to fight down nausea when he saw was the sabre tooth had done to this men. She must have had some time, he thought distantly. The men - Jack could count four bodies now - had not only been killed. They had been ripped open and feasted on. When the last body was lifted from the horse, his arm slipped out of the blanket the hussars had used to wrap him. His hand was untouched, barely smeared with blood. Above it only bones, held together by the last shreds of flesh and tendons, remained. A rifleman suddenly ran away a few steps, then fell to his knees, vomiting.

Captain Torrington, at Jack's side, was as white as his shirt, and breathing heavily, but with a determined swallow, he went forward to help. Jack followed and kneeled down in the wet grass beside him while the Captain pulled away the cloth covering the first corpse. When he saw the remains of a once young and good-looking face, the young officer closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath; then he said to Vickery, his voice devoid of any inflection: "Lieutenant Swanson's patrol, Sir." The rain was washing away the blood slowly, and both men stared down at the four deep slashes cutting in parallel lines through face and shoulder.

The grim atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by the approach of a bustling individual, accompanied by Pye and Rottlaender, and Jack could almost feel the soldiers' anger at the beast turning into a darker, more explosive mood. Torrington straightened up, and Vickery came to meet the newcomer, quelling the soldiers with a glance.

"You send for me, Captain?" The man's voice was grating and querulous. Jack could feel Torrington beside him stiffen. Vickery seemed to have a better grip on his temper; he replied calmly, though coldly: "Please have a look at these men, Surgeon Aimes." With a petulant look, he man came over to where Jack and the engineer stood, bend down and reached for the man's neck, presumably to check for a pulse. There was none there, only a gash that exposed the white bones of the spine, but the surgeon didn't seem to be overly put out by that. Shrugging, he stated: "He's dead. No need for me here."

Before anybody could say anything, or the soldiers had time to take exception to this unfeeling comment, Vickery had stepped very close to the surgeon. For the first time, Jack could see real, deep-burning anger in his eyes; his voice was still calm, but the undertone made even the callous surgeon take a step back. "Yes, Aimes, I know. What did he die of? And what about the others?"

Suddenly Jack became aware that Torrington had stepped away and was bent over at the end of the line of wrapped bodies. Frowning, Jack went to him and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Captain …"

"Hush!", Torrington commanded hoarsely - not quite the reaction Jack had expected - and pulled the blanket away from the body. He bend down over the older man's face, listening for something, his hand at the throat, and suddenly Jack saw the slowly welling blood and understood. He leaped over the body to the other side, crouching down and trying to control the bleeding, while Torrington sharply called: "Over here! He's still alive!"  



	7. Death of a rifleman

* * *

  


"Tigers at night, Part IIc"

Rating: R

_This time I really hit the 1.000 word limit at a strange point. Sorry to have not much action in this part, but I couldn't bring myself to hurry over Augenstein's death._

* * *

  
To his credit, the surgeon immediately came running. Right in his wake was Captain Vickery, and half a dozen riflemen. Torrington commanded sharply: "Brandy! Quickly!" Jack could see the engineer's hands slightly tremble as they rolled up the blanket and stuffed it under the dying man's head. Some part of Jack's mind that had seen more death than he would ever care to admit wondered whether the other had seen a real battle yet. But the captain hid his shock well, and Jack gave him an encouraging little smile.

There wasn't time for talking, though. The doctor fell to his knees opposite Jack and roughly pulled the covers away. Vickery crouched down between Torrington and Jack, dipping the lamp the engineer had brought to better see the man's face. "Augenstein." A low rumble went through the riflemen, and they drew nearer, forming a circle around the small group on the ground. One of the hussars said in a low voice: "We found him a little distance away from the others. He seemed ..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Vickery only nodded, then gently called the man and tried to bring him back to consciousness.

The surgeon pushed Jack's hand aside, looked at the deep puncture mark, then slapped a pad of cloth onto it. "Press it down firmly, Sir!", he barked at Jack. Jack did so, but he knew that it wouldn't be enough. The tooth had gone too deep. The surgeon told him to hold another pad in place, then checked the skull. When he reached around it, his hand came away bloody. Jack hadn't much liked the doctor when he had appeared, and he still thought that the man would do well to brush up on some technique, but when the surgeon turned his head to Vickery, the helpless anger in his eyes was real, and Jack suddenly was very much reminded of Owen and his ways of coping.

"No good, Sir. He might wake up again, but ... It would have to be soon." He shook his head, then went to see whether there was still a spark of life in any of the other bodies.

Rottlaender appeared beside them, a silver flask in his hands. Torrington took it and filled the cap with amber liquid, then, while Vickery supported the head, tried to feed the liquor to the Rifleman. Most of it dribbled out of the corner of the mouth. The rifles officer's eyes drilled into Jack. His voice was low, only audible to their own group, but it had a fierce streak under all its calm. "Five riflemen, Captain. How could one tiger, even a fierce one, have done that? What ..."

"Two ..." The interruption was weak, and immediately followed by a coughing fit, and Jack could feel the padding under his hand get wet and sticky, but Rifleman Augenstein had not yet finished. "Two tigers, Captain. We only ... saw the golden first."

All stared down at him. Jack's jaws clenched. They had only seen one beast on the CCTV back in Cardiff. But they had seen only half of the street, too. And smilodons were supposed to be social animals. He prayed that at least it would be only a couple having a night on the town, not a whole pride. Torrington gave Augenstein another sip of brandy, and the man swallowed painfully, but he awkwardly licked a spilled drop from the corner of his mouth.

"Good ... stuff." His breathing was laboured. Vickery gently squeezed the man's hand. His face was calm, friendly and encouraging, and Jack could only guess what he really felt. He knew what it cost to keep that expression when talking to a dying man, though. He could feel the strain in his own face. "Captain Torrington certainly won't grudge you another one. Tell me what happened. How did they attack you?"

The engineer held the cap to the man's lips again, and the man drank, coughed, but then continued. "Rain was getting heavy. We stopped ... Some shelter. We didn't see it. Suddenly something ... It made a sound like nothing I've ever heard. And then it was right between us and slashed with claws and teeth ... It had teeth as long as my arm, Sir. Morgenstern ... The Vieh had jumped right at him."

Another coughing fit shook the body, and Vickery ordered and coaxed the rifleman to stay with them. When Augenstein finally relaxed, Jack could see from the ashen look in his face that the end was near. But after another sip of liquor, he gathered his last energy and finished his report. "Lieutenant ... ordered us ... to shoot. Then the beast ... attacked him ... his sword ... He wounded it ... Didn't back away ... Ripped his throat out. The other was ... smaller ... dark ... Came from behind ...Mueller ... We fired ...they didn't seem to feel it ... I ... I ran ... Got me ... Sorry ... Never ran before ... Never ..."

Vickery bend over the man, reassured him, tried to ease his mind, but, convincing as the Captain was, Jack doubted that the man could still hear him. He had felt the rise and fall of the chest go shallower and slower under his hands, felt how the muscles tensed in one last effort, and now felt them go lax. Torrington laid two fingers to the man's pulse, then with an angry sigh shook his head and closed Augenstein's eyes.

The three men looked at each other for one moment, then, as if by mutual agreement, all three stood and stepped back from the dead man. Vickery cleared his throat, then spoke up for all to hear. "He's dead. He and the rest of the patrol were killed by two vicious tigers. We will hunt them down in the morning."

A chorus of rumours broke loose, but Jack could feel the soldiers around him relax. Probably no-one of them had ever seen a tiger, but to have someone to blame for those wounds, knowing they would do something soon to fight this new threat and avenge their comrades, helped them. The surgeon, standing a few feet away from the soldiers, looked angrily at them for a moment, as if he already was blaming them for the work he might have, then took a step back and vanished in the darkness. Vickery went on, detailing men to put the corpses in a tent until they could be buried, send men to reinforce the piquets, saw to all the little decisions a commander needed to make now.

Torrington had slipped from Jack's side, too; he had sent off Rottlaender and Pye on some orders, and now was talking to hussar sergeant. So when somebody cleared his throat respectfully behind him, Jack suddenly realized that he was standing quite alone in the rain, while everybody about him was busy doing something - anything, Jack suspected. When he turned, the young hussar before him straightened to attention.

"I beg your pardon, Sir, but ... You are an officer?"  



	8. The aftermath

* * *

  


"Tigers at night, Part IId"

Rating: PG

_Once again not much action. I guess I get fed up with apologizing for it already ... Better than a commercial break, though, I hope._

* * *

"Yes, I am. Captain Jack Harkness, general staff. And who might you be?" Jack flashed his best grin at the younger man. The circumstances might have been grim, but he always had been of the opinion that solving problems was much easier if one established good relationships first. The very personable hussar saluted. Jack allowed himself a closer look, and quite like what he saw: He himself was nearly a head taller, but the young man held himself up quite proudly, and had a devil-may-care attitude that rivaled Jack's own. The first word of his introduction was therefore a bit of a surprise, especially since the uniform certainly had enough bling to qualify as an officer's.

"Trooper Willoughby, 15th Light dragoons, Hussars, Sir. It's just … If there's to be a hunt for this beast, we would like to volunteer. With Colonel Grant's and Captain Heylinger's permission, of course."

Who probably just now heard about this. Who would be a problem - Jack began to seriously doubt that he had brought enough RetCon. Rather sharper than he meant to, he asked: "Who has reported to them?" But to his relief, the young man cringed just a little bit. "No-one, Sir. We came straight here, and then Captain Torrington …" He vaguely pointed to where the Captain was still in discussion with the sergeant. Jack took a deep breath.

"Stay here! ", he ordered; then his face softened and light up in another of his glorious, come-along-with-me grins. "You might be in for a hell of a ride." He turned and strode off towards the engineer. Willoughby stared with a rather stunned expression at Jack's back, his strange clothing, hatless head and self-assured swagger, but he obediently remained where he was.

Torrington was about to finish his conversation; when he saw Jack coming towards him, he opened his mouth to send the sergeant about his duties, but before he could say anything, Jack had put a hand on his upper arm. "A word with you, Captain? Sergeant, stay here!"

The sergeant looked at him, perplexed, but Torrington nodded in confirmation of Jack's command, then allowed him to guide him a few steps away. When they stopped in the wind-shade of a tent, Torrington raised one elegant eyebrow. "I assume, Captain, that you would not wish this tale to spread further than necessary?" Jack nodded. "The hussars have to remain here. If they report that back …" The younger man held up a hand, stopping Jack's explanation.

"I understand. Something might change and a paradox created. I do still not really comprehend what you have told us, but neither Captain Vickery nor I regard ourselves as _completely_ brainless. He has ordered the riflemen to keep quiet about this 'pair of tigers, escaped from or abandoned by a travelling show' and I have already sent over to their camp, to request that they stay here. Of course I have not much authority to do so, but until the message has reached them and they have sent somebody back to tell me that I'm not technically allowed to order around hussars without proper paperwork, we'll hopefully be off hunting. Fortunately, I'm just a lowly engineer, who can't be expected to know the _proper military drill_ , and a lord, who can't help himself ordering around everybody ."

The grin that appeared on the engineer's face during that explanation was unexpected, and it was partly born in over-compensation, but it could rival Jack's for charm. He felt his own lips kick up in response, and involuntarily came a bit closer. The engineer stood completely still for a second, his eyes locked with Jack's, then his brows drew together in confusion. He looked at Jack's hand, still lying warmly on his arm, and Jack could feel the muscles under the wet and clingy jacket tense to step away. He dropped the hand and took a step back himself, not hastily, but rather as if he had wanted to do just that anyway. "Thank you, Captain. We might just need a pair of fast riders there. And one just came up to me and volunteered, anyway."

Torrington nodded, still a bit uncertain, then called over to the sergeant. "Carry on! As we discussed." The man waved his men to follow him with their horses, then led them, accompanied by some riflemen, behind the tents. After a glance to Jack, Willoughby followed them, but in passing his eyes asked a hopeful question, and Jack just couldn't not respond to it. Well, he didn't really try to anyway. "Captain Torrington and I agree that we might need your services, so you're to stay here.", he called. The young man only grinned in anticipation, clearly not understanding, but Jack suddenly realized that he was overcompensating, too. Grinning, and flirting, and making ribald comments like nothing had happened. Because five people had just died on his watch.

He noticed the engineer - hadn't he said he was a lord as well? - look at him, the confusion in his eyes now replaced with concern, and quickly pasted a grin back on his face. "Soooo … What do we do until the light is good enough to hunt our little pair of cats?" - "You might want to fill us in on those parts you have not told us yet, Captain.", Vickery replied dryly from behind him. "Although I would suggest you change into something dryer and more appropriate first. I don't think I would care to have to deal with this, should you fall ill."

The rain had eased off sometime during the last half hour, although nobody had really noticed until now, but the wind was still angrily driving leaves over the ground, and all three men shivered slightly in their soaking clothes. Torrington gave Vickery a wry smile. "I'll see to it, if the Captain is amendable. I also told Rottlaender to find us something warm to eat. Would you do me the honour of coming over and dine in my tent?" There was a touch of self-mockery in the very formally given invitation, but although a gentle teasing that Jack didn't understand, but found quite endearing.

Vickery smiled in response. "Certainly, Captain. A warm meal would be very welcome. I'll send Cotton over, too, if you don't mind. It might be easier on your porcelain. If I remember correctly, another chair would also be welcome?" It seemed to be some kind of joke, for Torrington's smile became a real grin for a second; Jack wished he could share it. His radar told him quite clearly that there was nothing sexual there, but the officers shared a bond of … camaraderie, for want of a better word, and for that he envied them. He liked, and even loved his own team, but he was always the boss. There was the doctor, of course, but the few times he had seen him, the roles had been kind of reversed. The only one he could offhandedly think of with whom he had ever shared something like this had been Rose. And Rose was gone.

So when Torrington lightly touched his elbow and indicated his tent, he followed, smiling and joking that it was just breakfast time in Cardiff, for all he was worth.


	9. An apology

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IIe"

Rating: PG

_Maggie belongs to Sans Nom, and I must ask her forgiveness for this._

* * *

Just when they reached the engineer's tent, several other people appeared there as well. The first one Jack did see was the nice-looking woman Cotton had talked to earlier, her hands full of wrapped bundles. She was hurrying through the rain, hunched forward to protect her burden, but when Torrington approached, she stopped and curtsied. The Captain politely tipped his hat to her, but in a more practical vein also held up the tent flap for her to enter. His greeting was rather friendly, too; a genial "Mrs. Cotton! I see that you managed to find us some coffee!" Although Jack had a feeling that some part of it was caused by the package in her hands - the engineer's eyes lit up when he saw it - the Captain seemed to genuinely like her.

Coffee certainly would be a good idea. At the engineer's wave, he followed the woman into the tent. She seemed a bit tentative, he thought, fading into the back corner with her packages, and he tried to ease things a bit by giving her one of his big, appreciative smiles. She certainly was worth looking it as well. Not a stunner, but like apple blossoms: warm, and gentle, and pretty. At his charming best, he held out a hand and began to introduce himself with his usual "Captain Jack ...".

He didn't get further before he realized that this had been the wrong approach. The woman's eyes grew wide and frightened, and she blanched a little. "Damn!" Jack's jaw clenched. He dropped his smiling and was deadly serious now. He had seen the look she had on her face before, and he had hated to see it every time. Cotton, standing in the entrance with a chair and various other things, was looking daggers at him, and although he still kept to proper conduct, Jack could sense that he wanted to do something else entirely. The two youngsters were standing behind him, unable to see what had transpired, but instinctively on their guard, staring at him, taking their cue from the suddenly tense officer behind Jack.

"Captain Harkness?" Before the situation could further escalade or become awkward, Torrington gripped his guest's elbow with rather more force than necessary. The engineer looked and sounded as calm as before, but Jack could feel the anger of the man. It wasn't all directed at him, though, but frankly when the engineer would have had time and opportunity to warn him was quite beyond Jack. Leaving the soldiers and Missus Cotton to deal with dinner, he led Jack to his bed behind a folding screen. A towel and a bowl of hot water were there, as were several pieces of clothing. "You would perhaps like to change, Captain. Please make use of this and call should you find anything missing."

Jack slowly stripped and washed off the mud clinging to him. There was quite a lot missing, foremost a shower - hot for once -, but it felt good to get out of his sodden trousers and shirt. He lifted up the replacement and began to dress. Fortunately the shirt was loose-fitting. Being half a head taller than both Vickery and Torrington, and considerably broader in the shoulders, it was a tight fit, nonetheless. The trousers were even worse. Jack certainly didn't mind close-cut clothes, but these would make him think twice before sitting down. Fortunately the construction at the front was better suited than usual flies for such emergencies. A pair of jeans from Torrington would probably have damaged valuable parts forever. There appeared to be no jacket, but since he had by now quite thoroughly studied the way Torrington's clothes expertly hugged his form, he knew there was not a chance that the Captain had something that would fit him. Jack looked down at himself and felt rather like a pirate. Not quite only to complete the picture, he slung his belt and holster back on, then re-emerged from behind the screen.

In the rest of the tent, some kind of domestic structure seemed to have set in. In a small added structure at the back Rottlaender was cooking something that made Jack aware of how hungry he was. Next to him was his friend Pye, polishing a bit of silverware as if this was going to be a royal reception; they both talked excitedly, but kept their voices low. Mrs. Cotton was there, too, perhaps to keep an eye on them, and Jack was glad for that. He had been afraid that she would have preferred to vanish. Without much ado, but slowly, he went to the back entrance of the tent, giving her ample time to see him coming, and Cotton to find a suitable task next to her. The rifleman decided that the cooking fire needed some new logs.

Jack stopped at the entrance, consciously keeping the canvas between him and the woman he had unintentionally made uncomfortable. He remained standing there for a long moment, simply watching the riflemen cooking, aware of Torrington's sharp gaze drilling into his back. There were probably rules in this century how to do that. He couldn't recall them, didn't think they would help much anyway, so he simply said: "I'm sorry." He gave her another smile, simple, much smaller, but also much more honest, and just a bit sad, then bowed his head and stepped back into the tent proper.


	10. How to hunt a foe bullets don't hurt

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IIf"

* * *

Right on time, before the moment could become awkward, Captain Vickery entered the tent. Jack wondered briefly if this was really a coincidence, but whatever was responsible for the Captains immaculate timing, Jack was grateful for it. The quiet tension of a moment ago vanished, as Rottlaender and Pye suddenly burst into action setting the table and bringing food and drink, Cotton took Vickery's overcoat and even Mrs. Cotton stood up. She had looked a bit startled and unsure at Jack's apology, but now gave him a shy little smile, just enough to indicate that she accepted it, and took his mud-caked coat from Rottlaender before the lad could trip over the seam in his attempt to carry it and Captain Torrington's boots out and at the same time keep an eye on the sauce simmering in the kettle and on the table, checking if anything was missing there.

The buzzing was short lived, however. Soon everything was ready, and although the two younger riflemen seemed quite eager to wait on them at the table - no doubt driven by curiosity - Torrington send them out with an assurance that they would certainly be called, should the officers need anything. His suggestion that they might like to eat something themselves also seemed to help. Jack had to hide a smile when he saw Pye's eyes get almost reverent and a grin as big as his face would hold spread over it.

Well, if Rottlaender cooked for his friend as well, and perhaps nicked a few leftovers from the officers' table, then Jack could understand the grin. Although simple, this was certainly better than the barracks grub Jack remembered. The fact that it was hot and on the table, and that Jack's stomach had been angrily protesting against its unemployment, was improving it even further. The other two Captains seemed to feel similarly; without much talking, they set to demolish the stew, bred, and vegetables Rottlaender had served in generous portions. It was a comfortable silence, though, and Jack was almost sorry when Vickery pushed his plate away, refilled his glass and eyed Jack in mock interrogation.

"I think, Captain, now is the time to fill in all those little details you left out earlier. I take it is a surprise to you as well that there are two of those beasts, but perhaps you can explain why they seem to be still alive? He hasn't explicitly told us so, but I can assure you that the patrol certainly hasn't gone down without putting up a fight, and I would think that at least a few bullets or cuts must have connected." Both he and Torrington looked expectantly at him, but they didn't seem to actually blame him for it, something Jack had half expected. He shrugged. "They may possibly be dead by now, but from what the doctor on my team told me, they are incredibly resilient. They also are supposed to have a thick skin and underneath some flesh that protects them. If the bullet didn't go right through and hit something vital, they probably survived it. They may stay quiet for some time now, though; they have had their meal."

For a moment, all three were silent, looking into their glasses, remembering the bodies that were now cooling in a tent at the edge of the camp. Unexpectedly Torrington cut in. "I spoke to the Hussars, and one of them was in India before. He told me of a tiger hunt he had heard of there. It seems those beasts don't back down when they are wounded. They only attack more fiercely. He told me the tiger, already three times shot, killed two more men before an elephant finally impaled it with a trunk. It was a second-hand tale, mind, but I guess we can take from it that if we manage to corner it, it will do its best to fight his way out."

Vickery's mouth twisted in a wry grin. "Since this army currently doesn't appear to have elephants in its ranks, we would seem to need another way to put those 'sabre-teeth' down. The attack took place at the mouth of a little valley. I seem to remember that it has sheer walls further uphill. How well, do you think, can those beasts climb? " Jack shook his head. "No idea really. They are not from my time either, and nearly all we know about them comes from a few that died in a tar pit in California. Not very helpful to assess their climbing abilities. Better not count on them being unable to scale those walls." Torrington nodded and stated quite matter-of-factly: "We could try to place a charge somewhere and bait it. Or bury it and place the bait atop. That way they hopefully wouldn't smell it. I don't think even over large tigers survive being blown up."

Blown up …? Jack suddenly burst out laughing. He supposed he had gone soft. Civilized. Usually he was the one who made the outrageous suggestions. Yet here a calm, sensible young man quite coolly proposed the to get rid of a problem by using a large quantity of explosives, and another nodded as if this was indeed … Jack wiped the tears from his eyes and, between several bursts of chuckles tried to explain his sudden mirth to the two startled Captains. "I'm sorry, but …" He had to stop to fight down another attack. "But in the 21th century, one simply can't go around and proposed to blow things, especially living things, up. Much as I'd like to do it sometimes." He fought to get his face under control again and asked: "Do you think that's really a viable option?"

Vicery glanced at Torrington, who answered business-like: "I do have enough powder available, and the technical side should pose no difficulties. There _is_ the slight problem of having to account for the powder. I guess Captain Harkness would not want his mission to become official in the books?" He glanced at Jack, who emphatically nodded. Vickery tapped the foot of his glass on the table. "If it really proves necessary, we could probably find our way around this. The rain tonight might be helpful in this regard. But what seems more of a problem to me is the bait. If it is true that these beasts eat nothing else after they have tasted human flesh, … I categorically refuse to use a rifleman for this!" Jack pondered this for a moment. There was of course a way out of this dilemma, but a) he relished being torn to pieces not all that much, b) if Torrington and Vickery felt anything for him, they would stop him, and c) he would have quite a lot of explaining to do when they realized that dying for him didn't mean staying dead.

They all sat silent for a minute, thinking about it, then Vickery stretched and got up. "I would suggest we all sleep for a couple of hours on this. Until the sun is up, there is little chance that we find those killers anyway, and despite their undoubted dangerousness, there are also the French to consider. Since the sabre teeth have unfortunately decided to appear behind our lines and not in front of them or behind theirs, I'm afraid we'll have to wait until the light is good enough to rule out surprise attacks on their part before taking a sizable portion of the company for a hunt. Captain Harkness, there's a tent prepared for you, and I've assigned Rifleman Pye to see to it that you have everything you might need, as far as we can provide it."

No-one had any objection to that, not because they didn't want to see this through as quickly as possible, but because no-one had either a good idea or a sensible argument to counter Vickery's reasoning; perhaps a bit of sleep was really the best option now. With easy thanks to Torrington for the dinner invitation, Vickery took his leave, quickly followed by a tired, but surprisingly relaxed Jack. The day had not started well, and had gotten considerably worse, but Jack actually felt that things might begin to look slightly better now.


	11. Morning coffee

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IIIa"

_Due to power outage and resulting computer trouble, only a short half-scene today. Written mainly because I like those suspenders._

* * *

Jack woke to the sounds of the Stand-To, cursing and tumbling out of the too-short cot. He was halfway into shirt and trousers and out of the tent before his reflexes gave his brain a chance to chime in and inform him that a) this was not a war he was supposed to fight in, and b) he had not overslept, but hadn't been woken at all, probably for the simple reason that those who actually had to be up and around already had decided that they could handle what he had learned to call the the morning hate better without an over-active officer from a not-even-invented branch of the service around, and that c) The shirt, unstarched but clean, was his own, as were the boots and trousers, and now that he thought about it, his coat had been laying on the same chair as well. He could also recall a wash basin with water and other necessaries. Probably the little Brownie responsible would get offended if he insisted on ignoring all these amenities.So he retreated back into his tent as dignified as possible, hoping that everyone else was too busy to notice his short lapse of dignity.

Eager as he was to get going, dressing up properly took some time, and Jack was quite glad he had decided to get out of sight again for it. Somebody had taken pains to make his clothes wearable again - something Jack was profoundly grateful for - but obviously said someone had been quite curious about his suspenders. Not only had they been put back on the wrong way around, but also adjusted to a different, much smaller size; Jack unfortunately only noticed that after a sharp pain in the groin, occasioned by his vigorous pulling them over his shoulders. He had removed all really sensitive things from his pockets, but he briefly wondered what this someone - in all probability Pye and maybe his friend Rottlaender - had made out of the pack of paper tissues Ianto always made sure he had in his coat pocket.

Finally, he reemerged, and was greeted by the sight of Captain Torrington, surveying him from behind a work table, a cup of coffee in his hands. The large pot and additional cups promised that the Captain might be inclined to share what seemed their mutual drug of choice, so Jack sauntered up to him with a cheerful "Good Morning!". He had to give the Captain points for attentiveness, because without hesitation, and (apart from standing up) without any long greeting ritual that probably was usually considered necessary in this period, the engineer pointed to the coffee. "The same to you, Captain. Will you join me?" Jack gladly accepted. The brew was rather weak and tasted a bit strange to somebody being used to Ianto's industrial strength, personally approved coffee, but it was hot and promised to have at least some caffeine. After a couple of sips Jack began to feel more like his usual self, and began to take an active interest in his surroundings, or more specifically in the map the engineer had spread out on the desk before him.

Without needing any encouragement, Torrington took a pair of compasses and started to point out the geography to Jack. After making him acquainted with their own position (Jack finally learned that he was in Northern Portugal - not that it mattered much, but was nice to know), he explained: "The patrol was attacked here, right at the mouth of this little valley. There is an open plain there, and I guess if those sabre-tooth beasts keep out in the open, we will have to find a way to stop them from going to the west. There are two villages that way. Captain Vickery send to warn them, but …" - "Better not take chances.", Jack finished. He looked down at the map. "I don't think they can cross that big river that cuts through the plain. It seems swimming is not their kind of sport. The village on the far side of the river should be safe, but otherwise … we'd be best off if they are in that valley after all. Even if they can climb the sides, it doesn't look as if there's anything there." Torrington snorted. "Apart from us, you mean."


	12. Three Captains, two tigers and one bomb

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IIIb"

* * *

Jack's face mouth lifted in a smile. "There's of course always that." He looked down at the map thoughtfully, but his mind was not really on the problem for the moment. Jack had the uneasy feeling that the engineer was carefully _not_ asking him something, and given that the man had given more attention to the date on his watch than to all the other equipment together, Jack had an inkling what it might be. He tried to remember whether he had mentioned that the rift had at least for the moment closed. He couldn't, really, but since none of the officers seemed to be anxious that more of the beasts might come through it, it was safe to assume that either he had or they believed it to be so anyway.

Fortunately Torrington didn't seem to be much of a talker in the morning. He had brought out a box, which was revealed to contain two pistols and all that was necessary to load them and keep them in perfect order. Meticulously, he loaded them. When he saw Jack glance at the swaps, the fingers of his right hand involuntarily checking his Webley, he pushed the case around until it lay open in front of Jack. "Should there be anything that you can use on your own pistol, you're welcome to use it. I can also lend you one of mine, should you require it." He inspected his own pistol carefully before putting it down on the table. "I'm sure Captain Vickery could arrange for a rifle, if you know how to handle it." Jack laughed and pulled his revolver free; although he had never been forced to really use a muzzleloader in battle, he had made a point of knowing how it worked and even had a musket in the firing range, but when the chips were down, he would prefer his Webley any day. Unloading it with practiced motions, he shook his head and smiled. "Thanks, Captain, but I still have enough rounds with me. If there's a chance to get a sword, however ....?" If anything happened, it would be Jack standing in the sabretooth's pass, and a length of sharp steel would certainly increase the damage he could do then.

Torrington looked up from inspecting his second pistol; his eyes passed over Jack, slightly startled, as if he only now had realized that Jack hadn't the sword customary for officers in this period. It was a bit stupid, really, because Torrington normally seemed not to miss much, and Jack felt just a bit proud that the other seemed to have forgotten for a moment that he was not really just another officer who had dropped by. There had also been a bit of concern for him at the end, though, and Jack wasn't sure how to interpret that. The engineer drained his cup. "I'll get you one", he said quietly, then went to his tent. Jack was left to inspect his Webley; it hadn't fared too badly despite his header in the mud, but there were a few mud splatters, and a bit of cleaning couldn't hurt. Taking the flask of oil and a clean cloth, he set about his task. Torrington reappeared after a time, carrying another sword and a crossbelt. He handed the weapon to Jack, then sat down again, took out a notebook, read, glanced at the map and made a few calculations. He didn't say anything, and Jack felt no need to do so either, when the other was clearly doublechecking something, but it was an oddly companionable silence, and every now and again Jack glanced at the earnest young man and smiled. Finally Torrington looked up.

"Here, here, and here." He pointed to three spots on the map. "If we have a bit of time to prepare it, and then can somehow convince those tigers to go up the valley, we could try the bait-trap here. Not only should it blow up in their faces, it should bring a sizable portion of the slope down. It is very steep in this part, and the valley is narrow there, more like a defile, ending in a cascade. Captain Vickery suggested to position some men on the flanks a bit further down the valley. Once again, the deepest part is a ravine. Unless those beasts are exceedingly good climbers, they will have difficulties getting up there. Even if they survive the bait, we could lay down a fusillade there and prevent them from getting back out of the valley. And I would place some minor charges here. Not to kill them, but to make a lot of noise and herd them up into the valley. Hopefully their viciousness doesn't extend to running towards every loud sound."

Jack studied the map. Detailed as it was, he had to trust the engineer's description of the landscape, but if the flanks were as steep as he claimed, then the plan was as good as a plan could be under those circumstances. "What do you intend to use for bait?" he asked. Torrington shrugged. "Entrails, brain and hide. In other words, the best things the butcher has to offer. We can bundle it up and throw it down from the side. Then our only problems will be the timing of the charges and to get those beasts into the valley proper. If they decide to keep to the upper parts of the hill or the river, we can't do much more than either try to herd them or deploy and hope that we can put enough bullets into them before they can come close enough. Which in turn of course depends on that we see them before they can attack." The engineer looked at Jack, who nodded thoughtfully. Thinking this through step by step, trying to see the holes, he found one. "They might smell the blood before we can set the trap and attack en route." Torrington's mouth quirked. "Lead-lined chest and extreme caution. Not much else we can do, I'm afraid."

Jack brought up various other points, and they tried to find solutions to each. It grated a bit to be only able to play devil's advocate, but he knew the circumstances here not well enough to make any better plans than him hunting those beasts alone. If it became necessary, he could make a few improvements to their plan, though. He wasn't exactly keen on explaining his special little quirk, and being blown up was nasty, but in a pinch he could give the smilodeons something to run after. Or ignite a charge right on the spot. Suddenly he noticed a small marking on one side of the valley and his eyebrows went up. Just to make sure, he asked: "And this spot, Captain?" Torrington's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "That's where I would place the twelve-pounder cannon, if I had access to one."

The men were stood down for breakfast and Vickery came over to join him at the table. He easily greeted Jack, nodded to Torrington, and settled on the remaining chair. Rottlaender and Pye came bounding up, carrying new coffee and a simple, but nonetheless welcome breakfast. They looked a bit waryly at Jack, who tried to hide a grin and look stern, but when Pye lost several shades of colour, he relented and let it show. The young rifleman looked a bit unsure, but he couldn't resist the boyish charm of Jack's grin for more than a second, and when Jack held up his cup, he eagerly filled it with coffee again. Vickery accepted a cup, too, then glanced at Jack. "Should you not object to it, we'll set off in half an hour's time. All the men have volunteered, but we can't spare more than twenty on this. With the hussars Captain Torrington seems to have temporarily appropriated, we should manage well enough, I hope." He motioned towards the map. "I think you have refined our original plan a bit?" Torrington quickly explained what his discussion with Jack had yielded. Vickery seemed to already know the basics, and Jack guessed that both Captains must have gotten up early.

Finally the talking was done. To the call of a bugle, the hunting force assembled. The men looked eager, although some seemed to be not quite sure what they were in for. When the hussars lead their horses up to the group, the jingle of harnesses and snorting of horses joined the riflemen's low murmur. Jack smiled at the young hussar who had approached him yesterday, then was slightly startled as Pye nervously lead a horse up to him. The lad eyed the beast so suspiciously that Jack wouldn't have been surprised if the horse had reared, just to prove him right, but it behaved perfectly well. Vickery, taking over from Cotton the reins of a nice-looking chestnut, gestured towards it. "I took the liberty of having a horse saddled for you, Captain."


	13. The hunt is on

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IVa"

* * *

Riding - well, this kind of riding - was certainly not one of Jack's favourite activities, but one couldn't live through the better part of the 19th century without getting some practice. He was a bit rusty, but after he had found out that the mare he had been given particularly liked to be stroked where the neck met the withers, he had no trouble at all keeping up with the other horsemen. The hussars had taken point, with the officers following, while the riflemen drudged behind them, the soaked ground making them slip and curse occasionally. In their middle they led two mules carrying Torrington's explosives, a task they didn't seem to like particularly; otherwise they were quite calm and alert in a professional way. A lot of practice looking out for French on their patrols, Jack supposed.

After they had left the camp some minutes behind, Jack fiddled with his wristcomp a bit. It had taken some damage, and without some tech that wouldn't be invented for quite some time, he couldn't fix most of that; after a quick reset and a bit of calibration he managed to restore basic functionality, however, and the scan feature was coming in very handy right now. The two captains riding beside him looked curiously at the gadget for while before Torrington asked lightly: "If you'll pardon my curiosity: What does it do, Captain?" The inflection implied that the engineer didn't necessarily expect a truthful answer, and would accept light banter instead, but Jack could feel that it was a careful pretence. The curiosity in the man's eyes was real and eager, but it was tightly held in check. A glance to his other side showed a reflection of the same feelings in Vickery's eyes, and Jack realized that they both held back deliberately. On one hand, he was relieved. To preserve the timeline, he couldn't answer many of their questions. But on the other hand ... They must have talked about this between them, probably this morning, and decided on a joint course of action, and rather irrationally Jack felt a bit left out. Not that he particularly liked saying 'No!' to other people's quite understandable demands. What he didn't like was how this mission slipped more and more away from him, taken over by these two rather capable young officers and their men; how they worked together as a team. They were treating him perfectly friendly, colleague-like and courteous, though, and he liked that very much; perhaps the problem was that he liked it too much. That they had given him a taste of something, and now he wanted more of it. And considering that he was here only for a short time, then planned to retcon them in cold blood and hopefully either find a way to go back to his own time or lie low for the next 200 years, that was just silly.

He realized that he still hadn't answered the captain's question. He deliberated for a moment longer, finishing the adjustments, thinking about his answer. Actually, there wasn't much that spoke against telling them the truth. "It got a bit fried when I came through the rift, but I think I patched it back together enough to tell us if those smilodeons come too close for comfort. Should it suddenly begin to beep, at least one is within a 500ft. radius, and with some luck it will also show me the direction. It even has enough energy for a few longer-reach scans ... searches." Both looked surprised at that, and especially Captain Vickery seemed to have some difficulties with the technical concept of something _beeping_ and _scanning_ , but he clearly liked the idea that they could not get ambushed by the beasts. Jack was less sanguine. It occurred seldom enough, but right now he wished some aliens were the problem; in that case the wristcomp would have been able to pinpoint the location much better.

They found the smilodeons' tracks quite easily, though; the heavy rain the night before had at least been good for that. The hussars had guided them to the place where they had found the slaughtered riflemen, a small dell on the lower slope of a hill guarding the mouth of a small, deep-cut valley. Old trees extended their branches over it , and it certainly had provided better protection from the storm. Its steep walls had allowed the smilodeons to approach unnoticed and attack from above, however. The dell was eerily quiet now. Torn rags and bits of gear were the only thing that reminded of the happenings last night. The rain had washed away all blood. Once they methodically looked outside the circle where the hussars' horses had trampled the ground into a muddy, broken-up mess, it wasn't long until one of the riflemen called out: "'Ere, Captain…s!"

Jack and Vickery hurried over. Jack crouched down besides the first large footprint and peered in the direction the tracks led. The beasts had gone from here down to the river, it seemed. Not the best place for them to be, but better than heading straight towards a village. He turned around to study the valley. A few riflemen had searched there, while the hussars with their Padgets at the ready had acted as lookouts; no-one had drawn attention to any tracks there. A few riflemen, including Cotton, Pye and Rottlaender, led by Torrington had climbed up a couple of meters on the bare slope of the hill. When Jack called up to them, Torrington took down his spyglass and reported: "Nothing to be seen!" To make sure, Jack took another scan with his wristcomp, then jumped energetically to his feet and smiled at the two other captains. "Seems we have a bit of time to put the trap in place. And then we have to find a way to safely herd these beasts."


	14. Setting up a trap

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IVb"

* * *

They had split up. The hussars had remained at the mouth of the valley, keeping watch, most of the riflemen, led by a man called Roper, were climbing along the upper rims of the gorge, barely ten meters away from the men within it, but separated by a sheer drop of at least three meters, and the officers, with two mules and a handful of volunteers, were left to explore the small, but still angrily swollen stream in the middle of it and place the charges. There wasn't much finesse to those, and after a quick inspection Jack was perfectly capable to handle them as expertly as the engineer did. It earned him a questioning look from Vickery, an approving one from Torrington, and a bout of awe and admiration from Pye, who had by default become his assistant. The young lad handled the charges - primitive things with powder filled into bottle-like earth-ware containers - with an expression that made Jack laugh and reassure him that without fire, it was nearly impossible that they would blow up. The young rifleman looked not very convinced, but he pulled himself up straighter and tried to act as if handling bombs was his daily business and he was not at all afraid of the stuff. Jack smiled, his blue eyes tinged with a hint of sadness. The eager face and the wish to prove himself reminded him of another war, a lifetime ago, a night in London when the sirens had howled out their warning, and a strange couple he had felt the need to impress.

All in all, laying their trap went quicker than Jack had expected. Indeed keeping the fuses dry proved to be their biggest problem, but even this was quickly solved by using a few hollow reeds. He ungrudgingly admitted that he wouldn't have been able to pick a better spot for the kind of ambush they were planning. He had been a bit concerned that the rain might have softened the earth of the slope too much, but it turned out that while the lower parts were soft and slippery, the higher parts were rocky enough to give good footholds. After some discussion amongst themselves, the riflemen nominated Pye and Rottlaender to test the theory that, once in the ravine, it was impossible to climb out. There seemed to be an underlying joke there Jack didn't quite get, but he could understand that Vickery allowed it to set the men's mind more at ease. From the slight smile that played over the Captain's lips when he gave permission for this experiment, Jack also concluded that he had known the outcome from the start: For several minutes, the two boys did their not inconsiderable best, individually and in combined efforts, to jump scrabble, climb or even dig their way out of the ravine. When they finally admitted defeat, both of them were covered from head to toe in mud, Torrington had lost five quid to Vickery, one wall of the gully had suffered a small landslide that didn't make it any more accessible, and the mood was much lighter than before.

 

As Torrington had proposed, they had set three smaller charges in the lower part of the valley and a large one at the end. Now would come the tricky part: dumping the bait and laying a trail. Before anybody else had much chance to say something, Jack had volunteered. Torrington, once again with a quick flash of worry in his eyes, had argued that they could just as well set a mule to carry a dripping bag of blood down the ravine after they all were safely out of it; Vickery had mildly reminded him that mules were in rather short supply at the moment and that he would prefer to loose not even a mule to this hunt. At this point, their quiet discussion was interrupted, however, by the hurried sound of hooves. One of the hussars quickly came in sight, his horse struggling to maintain the speed he urged it to on the slippery ground broken by stones and arms of the stream. Even before he had reached them, he called:

"We spotted one, Sirs! Out on the plain!"


	15. First blood

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IVc"

_The smilodons are of the_ smilodon desasteralis _variety, a highly intelligent, not yet discovered subspecies of the_ smilodon populator _. In other words, while the beasts are based on what we know (or believe to know) about the latter species, I changed some things, foremost the agility._

I struggled quite a lot with this part, and even more with the next. Good fights are difficult.

* * *

  
  
One shared glance, and they vaulted into their respective saddles, Vickery issuing orders even as he mounted. Leaving the riflemen to follow on foot or respectively stay and guard the fuses, all three officers hurried down the valley again. In the distance they could already hear shots and yelling, and Torrington, who had taken point with his huge horse, spurred it to an even more neck-breaking gallop. The speed for which he and Vickery pressed and the later's anxious frown didn't bode well in Jack's opinion, and when they came close to the mouth of the valley and could see what was happening, Jack found the frown fully justified. His wristcomp had beeped even before they reached the last small cascade, giving them some warning, as did the sounds, but it didn't give them any clear idea what was actually happening, so the first few moments were spend trying to make sense out of the hectic movements in front of them. They had not yet completely cleared the valley, and while it was broader here, like an estuary with lower, smoother sides, it was still heavily riddled with trees and bushes.

It became immediately clear that the hussars had moved from keeping an eye on the smilodon to actively engaging it. It also became obvious that without some sound tactics, the hussars were no match for it. At least on short spurts the beast of prey - it appeared to be the smaller, darker one - was faster than their horses, more mobile and far better able to navigate the terrain. It also had found a clever way to weave around the horses, attacking their fetlocks from behind. Every so often, it would jump at one of the riders, slashing out with claw-studded paws that left deep marks, tearing easily through the fabric of the uniforms. The few shots the hussars fired were more a danger to their own horses than to the fast-moving saber-tooth, and two had already lost their Pagets when the beast had attacked while reloading. Now they mainly tried to slash at it with their sabres, but even this proved difficult and dangerous enough. Before anybody could order him to do otherwise, their guide joined the fray as well. Vickery sharply called at him to come back, but it garnered no reaction, and with an angry mumble, Vickery joined the hussars and tried to establish some common strategy; despite some sharp orders it proved to be even beyond him, however, to get the fast-moving, over-excited hussars back into line again.

Jack and Torrington, not directly involved in this necessary endeavour and not wanting to bring any more confusion to the scene, held back their horses. They both quickly found other occupation, however. Torrington was scanning the bushes through squinted eyes. "Where's the other?", he murmured, a bit worriedly. It was a question Jack would have loved to be able to answer, but unfortunately his wristcomp couldn't come up with an answer, and he couldn't see it either. At the first glance the attacks of the beast he could see looked rather random, but after a few seconds of watching, Jack had a strong feeling that they were not. The moment he saw one hussar, cut off from his comrades, being driven close to the bushes that lined the slope on the left side of the valley, Jack knew what the plan was, even before Torrington cried "There!", but it was already too late. The female sabre-tooth leaped from her hiding-place, her mottled brown fur with its golden spots blending into the brown and grey of the grass and leaves on the ground right up to the moment where she took two monstrous leaps, sank her claws into its hide and bit the rearing horse right in the jugular. Jack had seen CCTV pictures of the beast, but only now he could fully appreciate the immense size of these things. While the smaller one reached Jack's waist on all four, the larger one was the size of a pony and easily matched the weight of the horse it was attacking. It had also enough momentum to bring the horse down. The rider screamed in shock and fury, trying without much success to drive its sabre through the beast, and the others turned to the unexpected sound. The smaller one took advantage of the momentary distraction and sprinted away, zigzagging through the grass towards its mate. Two of the hussars tried to follow, but their horses couldn't keep up.

Willoughby, who had been nearest to the hussar now desperately trying to crawl out from under his horse, galloped towards him, yelling, waving his sabre and trying to draw the beast off. Jack and Torrington, who had both been less than 50m away, did the same, shooting at the cat with their pistols. Jack was sure that at one point he must have hit it, but the beast wouldn't die. Instead, it vaulted over the fallen horse after Willoughby, who veered sharply to avoid the attack. This was certainly a good move on the short term, but brought the hussar uncomfortably between both cats, and he tried to escape by making a dash towards the stream. The smaller one cut off that way. Jack, firing another round at her, galloped his horse almost across the female's front-paws to get her attention and draw her away from her prey. His ploy was working, and Willough gained some space to manoeuvre again, but unfortunately now both smilodons were between them and the rest of their troop. Torrington tried to get to the nearest slope, but it was already too steep to get up at this point, and before he could find a better one, the smaller beast - still able to easily scale the sides - was leaping at him and he had to retreat. It was debatable whether it was fortunate that the smilodon decided to follow its prey down again instead of leaving the valley. It nearly managed to get a hold on Trueno, and left a long slash in his hindquarter, but fortunately the enormous horse managed to kick out and connect, dislodging his assailant.

Vickery had finally managed to instigate a measure of order on his side, and had sent one of the hussars hurrying along the upper slope to warn the riflemen still further up the valley. Now he had taken his rifle and was trying to get a clear shot. The hussars' carabines were of little use, but perhaps a decent shot with a Baker rifle would make a difference.  



	16. Catch me if you can

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IVd"

* * *

  
When the hoof of Torrington's stallion connected, the smaller beast was ripped away from its hold in the stallion's thigh. The stallion reared as the claws tore through his flesh and bolted, in his panic managing what he hadn't been able to do before, scaling the steep side in a tremendous leap. Torrington dropped his sword to its wrist strap and held on for dear life, and only tried to regain control once they were a safe distance away from the crumbling edge.

The male sabretooth had his breath knocked out of him by the horse's attack. He had sailed a good four feet through the air, and only now clambered to his feet again, shaking himself. He needed only a few moments before he was ready to join in the fight again, but these few moments were enough for Vickery. His shot rang out just as the beast's muscles bunched to attack again. For a moment it stilled, and Jack wished fervently it would just drop down and die. He was using all skill he possessed, all resources his horse had left, and all the help he could get from Willoughby to stay just one step ahead of the larger sabretooth, and keeping an eye out for the other one, especially now that Torrington could no longer take part of the fire, was getting more and more impossible. But the beast refused to comply. He shook his head, gave a single, low-pitched scream, then suddenly darted away from them, up the valley.

The female was still following Jack, probably because she had realized that he was heavier than Willoughby and the reserves of his horse would soon be spent. Jack cursed. Not because he would have preferred if the other man was the target of the beast's attention, but because he was the one with still some bullets left, but couldn't get a good shot at the target. Willoughby, reduced to using his sabre now - Jack actually had no idea when his carbine had got lost, but he presumed it must have been somewhere near the start of this mad catch-me-if-you-can - couldn't inflict much damage, even if he took the dangerous gamble of coming close enough to attack. The beasts thick, coarse fur, the leathery skin and whatever was beneath it, fat or flesh, worked together like a medieval armour. He urged his horse into another tight turn, cursing as the mare lost her footing on a stone beneath the moss for a moment, and threw his weight over in an attempt to help her steady herself.

"Willoughby! Get out of here!" He tried to infuse his command with as much authority as he could. The hussar couldn't really help him any longer. He had no suitable weapon, and the sabretooth more and more refused to be distracted by him, concentrating solely on Jack instead. Perhaps to his credit, but more to Jack's irritation the hussar hesitated for an instant, and only Vickery's sharp repeat of the command made him relent and on his flagging horse join his comrades. Vickery himself had reloaded, and seemed willing to have another go at the larger beast, but before he could take proper aim, another, higher-pitched wail sounded through the valley, and with a last hiss, the large sabretooth suddenly turned tail and dashed after her mate, her fur neatly blending into the dappled shadows on the ground in a matter of seconds.

A shot rang out, but Jack hadn't time to see whether it accomplished something. His mare, winded and trapped in a maze of boulders, trees and bushes, tried to clear a puddle of water, slipped, screamed once, and Jack felt himself flying through the air, then a heavy thud and a flash of pain at the back of his skull, and suddenly the world contracted to a tiny point, and vanished.

He came to himself - only a few moments later, his internal clock assured him - oddly pleased that he still had the reins of his horse in his hand. Vickery was bending over him, looking concerned, and Jack suddenly noticed that the captain was talking to him, and that he probably should answer. "I'm alright. Not dead this time!", he groaned, trying to hoist himself into a sitting position. His back protested and informed him that the several pieces of stone and wood he had landed on would be leaving bruises in all colours, but at least nothing seemed to be broken, and his skin seemed mostly intact, too. Something was pulling at his hand, and when he managed to turn his head that way - he could hear several vertebrae snapping into place again - he realized that it was one of the hussars who waited to take the reins from him. His mare was struggling to get to her feet; Jack relinguished the reins to the man and asked, carefully pronouncing the words through the metallic taste of blood in his mouth: "How is she?"

Vickery, a concerned frown on his face, held a handkerchief out to him and answered: "We will know in a minute. The sergeant will take care of her for the moment. How are _you_ , Captain? That was quite a throw you took." Jack accepted the cloth, and cautiously passed it over the back of his head. It came away bloody, but he was relieved to see that there seemed to be nothing else mixed in, and that the amount of blood was acceptable. "Been worse", he answered, truthfully. "Just a nick and a bit of a goose egg. What happened to the cat?" He scrambled to his knees, then carefully tried to get up, using the boulder that had so uncomfortably broken his fall for support. Vickery held out a hand and helped him to his feet, keeping a firm hand under his elbow until he was satisfied that Jack didn't wobble. "She vanished into the bushes; I would guess she followed the other one, but their colouring blends in very well, so it's hard to be sure. The horses are quiet, though. I would take it to mean that none of them has come back yet."

Two hussars had got his horse back on her feet, and the sergeant came over to report. "Strained a tendon pretty badly, and a few cuts and bruises, Sir. Nothing that won't heal, but …" The man looked a bit uncomfortable at telling an officer the next part, although of course he was entirely right. Probably unconsciously he had placed himself firmly between Jack and his horse, a rather endearing, but not entirely practical move, given the fact that Jack was nearly double his fighting weight. "You won't be able to ride her back, sir. The leg won't take the weight." Jack shrugged, deliberately walked around the man and padded the sweating mare's neck. It hadn't been her fault, after all. "Don't exactly plan to go back just yet anyway. Keep an eye on her for me, will you? Wish I had a carrot for you, lovely, but I guess that will have to wait until we are all safely back at the camp." With a final stroke of the soft nose, he left her in the sergeant's care and turned back to Vickery. "We need to follow them, make sure they don't get out of the valley or make dinner of the men still inside it." The rifles officer nodded, unable to speak for the moment as he was in the middle of reloading his rifle. When he had spit out the top of the cartridge again, he explained, trying to sound reassuring: "Torrington set off in that direction. He should have reached them by now. Cotton is a very good shot, and most of the others are not far behind. If they have found a good place and spot them in time, perhaps their bullets will have more of an effect than what we have managed so far." Jack wasn't fooled. Behind the calm and steady words, the other man was uneasy, and itching to see how his men fared.

He flashed a sympathetic grin at the other officer and checked his own revolver. Only one shot left. He hadn't had time to stuff more than his usual pouch of spare rounds in his pocket, and now he had to use nearly half of them to fully reload his own weapon. "The dark one disappeared pretty quickly. My guess is your shot did a bit more damage than even he can take easily. Seems once he had called out, the other one only stayed to distract us a bit longer. Pretty neat team-work, actually. Hopefully that means they will want to find a quiet place to lick their wounds now, and not go searching for the next spot of trouble." About three seconds later the sound of shots fired somewhere up the valley reached them.  



	17. A Diversion

* * *

"Tigers at night, Part IVe"

_To repeat: Argh. Just too tired to write anything more for today ..._

* * *

  
  
With nearly identical curses, both men spun around. Vickery's horse, and possibly that small elephant Torrington had been riding and that now stood with reins dropping on the upper slope, where the only mounts that still looked fit enough to play another round of catch, but Jack didn't want to test his riding luck any further. Chances were that he wouldn't be much slower on foot anyway. Already running towards the sound, he yelled back at Vickery: "We can't risk them being driven back out again." - "Right!" The Captain gave the hussars a stern look before setting off on foot himself. "Follow to the first narrow spot and make a barricade!"

They were still on the same side of the narrow stream, but Jack used the few seconds gained by his head start to cross over to the other side. The moment the valley became a real defile, the two men would be enough to control the passage, but if the sabre-tooth tried to break through ... The further they went up the valley, the more the terrain would be in their favour, however, with next to no trees and only a few larger bushes in the gorge itself, so perhaps they could get a decent shot at the beasts in time. Or perhaps the problem would have solved itself soon. The rifles were still firing, in a slow, but continuous pattern that told Jack that they had gotten over the surprise and immediate danger. It also meant, however, that the smilodons either had an iron hide, or that the riflemen couldn't score clear hits.

When they had covered nearly half of the way, Jack suddenly could make out another noise coming quickly towards them. Ducking behind a convenient boulder and aiming his revolver was a matter of a second, as was his instinctive cry to warn Vickery. Whatever it was, it seemed to be more on his side. The captain had dropped to one knee behind another boulder and was aiming at the source of the quickly approaching sound. Fortunately he was quick to recognize the two grey-brown shapes breaking through the bushes, however; otherwise he might have been responsible for the death of one of the precious mules, both bolting for their lives. As soon as both men had realized, they instantly refocused on the terrain behind the animals. But to their secret annoyance and relief no sabretooth appeared in pursuit. Vickery slowly stood up again. "I can only hope the hussars will catch them without much trouble, and neither shoot them nor set off in another merry chase and leave the exit from the valley unguarded." Jack dusted off his knees - his fine trousers were a miserable protection for his knees - and laughed. "They are army mules. Let's hope they know that safety's in numbers and have not been long enough with the infantry to look down on their cavalry cousins." He set off again, more slowly and even more cautious now that they were near the critical area. Once or twice he thought he saw markings on the ground that might be tracks, but he didn't take time to investigate further.

They found the riflemen near the narrow gap where they had placed the first charges. They were laying a continuous fire over the valley upstream, but as far as Jack could tell, only occasionally somebody seemed to be really aiming at something. The four riflemen _in_ the gorge didn't fire at all, but had huddled close to the wall, bayonets on their rifles at the ready. Their comrades were deployed at the top, providing a slow but steady cover fire. Torrington half-kneeled on a nearby tree-trunk, his telescope trained at the upper valley. When the rifleman beside him alerted him to Jack's and Vickery's presence, he pushed the instrument together with a dissatisfied mumble and came to the edge. "The large one was here, just a minute ago, and I think it's still around somewhere. Every so often something moves in the bushes It tried to take a bite out of Cotton, but the moment we spotted it, it aborted the attack and vanished in the undergrowth again. We send a couple of bullets after it, but I don't think we really hurt it. We didn't see the darker one at all."

Jack, still on the other edge of the small stream, grunted in acknowledgement. He searched the ground on his side of the valley for a minute, then finally found what had hoped for: Fresh red blood, in heavy drops on the dead leaves. The track seemed to go straight up the valley. He held up a few leaves to show his find, though it was doubtful that the other men could really make out the marks. "The little witch was distracting you. Vickery has hit her love pretty bad down there. I'd say she engaged just long enough to focus your attention on her and make sure her mate could slip through. He's upstream with her." Vickery squinted his eyes, first looking at the leaves, then up the valley. "So now she's guarding the rear while he retreats into safety? Awfully clever beasts, but they can't get out of this valley. If we press on with all due caution, we'll eventually have them cornered. And even those beasts won't survive a volley of rifle shots." Jack grimaced. "Guess where they come from, nobody is clever and strong or mad enough to follow them far when they choose to pull back. I don't exactly fancy facing them when they find out that they walked into a dead end, however. Not that I mind a little protectiveness or a stubborn streak in a woman - only makes things more challenging in my opinion - but that one might just turn into a berserk."  



End file.
